


Mint Ice Cream

by via_ostiense



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-12-25
Updated: 2002-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-15 17:32:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/163175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/via_ostiense/pseuds/via_ostiense
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Draco go to the Yule Ball.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mint Ice Cream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashkitty](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ashkitty).



> Written for the Armchair's 2002 secret santa holiday exchange

Harry gnawed on his lip, twisting and biting at it with his teeth. It was the day before the Yule Ball and he still hadn’t worked up the courage to ask anyone. Not that he wanted to go to his last Ball with just anyone, mind – he’d already turned down Susan Bones, Padma Patil, Lavender Brown, dozens of Hufflepuffs, the odd Gryffindor or Ravenclaw, and even Moaning Myrtle. Harry winced as he remembered talking to the ghost – he’d been taking a bath in the prefects’ bathroom when she’d poked her head out of a tap and asked him to go to the Yule Ball with her.  _Ugh. That would’ve been a nightmare_ , he thought. At least she’d disappeared immediately when he told her no, and then he’d proceeded to cast warding spells on the bathroom so that she couldn’t pop in again. He sighed, drawing odd looks from his classmates. He knew whom he wanted to ask, but a snowball had a better chance of surviving in Hell than he did of dancing with his dream at the Yule Ball. Harry propped his head up on a fist, staring off at nothing in particular.

“Mr. Potter!” Harry jumped, his attention jerking away from daydreams and back to reality. Back to Snape’s leering face, to be precise. He groaned internally, knowing what would happen next – points taken off of Gryffindor for his inattentiveness, and sneers and insults from the Potions master. “Well, well, it seems as if our star Quidditch player is off in the clouds. You certainly weren’t paying attention to the lesson. Ten points from Gryffindor for Potter’s lack of attention,” hissed Snape. Harry slumped back into his seat, involuntarily looking at the other side of the dungeon, where the Slytherins were grinning and making faces at him. His gaze immediately snapped onto one face in particular, the only one that appeared indifferent, almost bored. It was a beautiful face, pale and delicate, wide across the cheekbones and ending in a cat’s pointed chin. Harry sighed.

Across the classroom, the Slytherin could feel Potter’s stare, dark and intense. The Gryffindor was almost gawking, as if he were looking at a strange exhibit in a zoo. Which he was, in a sense – certainly there was no one in the school who possessed the Slytherin’s delicate, translucent beauty. Amidst the black school robes, the vibrant greens and reds of the house scarves, and the grey stone walls, the Slytherin was a mote of silver light. The pale, ash-coloured student pretended to ignore Harry’s scrutiny and feigned to pay full attention to Snape.

“Mr. Potter!” Harry jumped again – his staring had been a bit too obvious, for the professor was looming over him. “Your attention wanders again. Ten more points from Gryffindor.” Harry bit his lip once more, resolving to keep his eyes glued to his Potions text for the rest of the hour. When the bell finally rang, announcing the end of class, he jammed his books into his bag and rushed out of the dungeon. He ran into a deserted classroom, purposely hiding from Ron and Hermione. He wanted to think, wanted to run around the lake until he fell over, wanted to sob, wanted to explode from sheer frustration.

He couldn’t rid his mind of silver-blond hair, finely articulated hands, and pale skin. Those images refused to leave his head and he saw them everywhere – during Potions, during Care of Magical Creatures, during Quidditch matches, during meals. They decorated the margins of his notebooks, filled the pages of his sketchpad, and they were the last thoughts in his mind before he fell asleep. This had long since passed the level of ‘crush’ and moved into the realm of ‘obsession.’ Maybe even ‘addiction.’ Some days Harry felt that if he didn’t catch a glimpse of those clear grey eyes, or that slim neck, muffled in a green and silver scarf, he would stop breathing altogether. His chest constricted almost painfully during Divination, when all he could see in his crystal ball were wide cheekbones and even the patterns in his tea leaves spelt out the Slytherin’s name.

Harry sighed and slumped against the wall.  _Malfoy. Why did it have to be Malfoy, of all people?_  He remembered coming out of the Triwizard maze in fourth year and seeing the crowd’s faces: enthusiastic, loud, and carefree, even the Slytherins had been glad that the winner of the tournament was a Hogwarts student. Only one face had seemed remote and disdainful – Harry saw that face and, coming fresh from an encounter with Voldemort, knew that this child would never be one of his adoring fans. He alone would continue to sneer and smirk at Harry, tossing him insults like so much spare change. While everyone else – Dumbledore, Hermione, Ron, the faculty and the other students – would cosset and attempt to soothe him, Malfoy would never fail to brawl with the Gryffindor. Recuperating in the hospital wing, Harry realized that he needed the Slytherin, that in a world where the Boy Who Lived became the Boy Who Brought Back the Dark Lord, he needed a constant. Something that wouldn’t change. Malfoy’s hatred provided an anchor of stability in Harry’s rapidly evolving world.

Eventually, after two years of clinging emotionally to the Slytherin’s contempt and derision, his dark obsession had turned to something much lighter and cheerful. Harry recalled realising that, far from hatred, he loved Draco, and he remembered rationalising it to himself – he had drifted from Ron and Hermione, and surely it was quite reasonable to fall for someone you spent the majority of your time thinking about? Reasonable. Right. Harry laughed at himself. He sighed and stood up, preparing to leave the room. He’d find someone to go to the Yule Ball with, maybe Ginny Weasley hadn’t got a date yet, and attempt to stop dreaming about his Slytherin. Harry grabbed his bag and yanked the door open, stepping out.

When the object of his fantasies promptly fell into him. He had, quite obviously, been sticking his ear to the door trying to eavesdrop. The Gryffindor lay on the floor a minute, savoring the feel of Malfoy’s body, warm and slight, on top of him. He had reflexively caught hold of the Slytherin as they tumbled to the ground, and he was enjoying the sensation of having the pale boy in his arms.  _He feels like a bird, so light and spare_ , Harry thought. And a few moments later,  _He isn’t moving. I wonder if he’s alright?_    
“Hey, Malfoy, you still alive?” Harry asked. The bundle of robes and ash-blond hair refused to respond, and so Harry picked him up and dragged him back into the room. He propped Malfoy up against a wall and sat in front of him. “Erm, Draco? Are you okay?”

The Slytherin popped an eye open and Harry’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of that much loved gaze. “I  _was_ feeling fine, Potter, until you moved and dumped me onto a cold stone floor. Quite uncivilised of you, really. Not that I’d expect anything else from a Gryffindor.”

Harry looked at the floor. A few months ago, those insults would have launched a rousing round of fisticuffs, but now they merely sent icicles into his heart.  _He’ll never like me. Ever. Serves me right, falling for a Slytherin_. “What were you doing, anyways, Malfoy?”

“I was listening to you talk to yourself, what did it look like?” the Slytherin sneered. “Honestly, Potter, you’re so dense. I saw you running off after Potions and followed you.”

 _He followed me?_  Harry was dumbfounded. “Er, why?”

“Because I felt like it. Because I wanted to come and ask you for your autograph.”

Harry schooled his face into a mask of disdain and got up to leave. “Well, then, I’m sorry to disappoint you but I don’t give it out to Slytherin gits.”

“Wait, Potter.”

Harry halted by the door. “What?”

“I wanted to ask you something.”

 _Oh, bugger. He’s going to ask why I’ve been staring at him, he’s going to insult me, he’s going to laugh and mock me._  “Hurry up and ask it, then. I’m missing my dinner.”

Draco looked uncertain, suddenly, the self-assured expression on his face slipping off and revealing a hesitant visage underneath. Harry nearly swooned, wanting to reach out and touch that lovely, unsure face.  _Right. And get my fingers bitten off for it._  

“I was wondering. You haven’t got anyone to go to the ball with, have you?”

“No.”  _But I’d love to go with you. Spend the night dancing in front of the whole school, in front of Ron and Hermione, in front of your Death Eater friends. Knowing you were mine for a few hours._  

“Can’t say I’m surprised, really.”

“Look, Malfoy, if you’re just going to sit there and toss insults at me, then you can sod off.”

“Potter, I just wanted to ask you—”

“Ask me what, prat?”

“WouldyougotothYuleBallwime?”

“Er. Pardon. I don’t think I heard that clearly.”  _I couldn’t have._

“Would. You. Like. To. Go. To. The. Yule. Ball. With. Me.”

“What?”

“Potter, it’s not that hard to comprehend. There’s a dance tomorrow. Our last one at Hogwarts, actually. You don’t have anyone to go with. I’m asking if you’d mind going with me.”

 _He’s asking me. He’s serious? He can’t be serious. This doesn’t happen to Harry Potter._  “Is this some sort of trick, Malfoy?”

The Slytherin looked rather upset. “No! This isn’t a trick! I’m simply asking you to a  _dance_ , Potter! What’s so hard to understand?”

“The whole thing, Malfoy. We’ve been enemies for years. Enemies don’t go to dances with each other. What’s up with this?” Harry growled, when all he wanted to do was scream ‘YES!’ and run up and down Hogwarts’ corridors shouting it at the top of his lungs.  _But there has to be a trick here somewhere. Why’s he asking me? He hates me, I know he does._    
“There is nothing ‘up with this’. Potter, why don’t you answer my question?” Malfoy looked as if he were about to cry.

Silence.

Harry stayed quiet for a moment, pondering.  _Hell. I have nothing to lose. If it’s a trick, he’ll make fun of me. And that’s nothing new. If it’s not, then…I might have a pleasant ball, for a change. And him in my arms._  

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes, Malfoy. Three-letter word, usually an affirmative answer.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.” Harry saw Malfoy’s uncertain look fall away, to be replaced by a smile so pure and bright that his heart seized up. He’d never seen an expression like this on Malfoy’s—Draco’s—face.

“I…guess I’ll see you tomorrow then, Potter. Outside the Great Hall at seven?”

“Sure.”

The rest of the evening sped by quickly for Harry, as did the following day. He watched Hermione and Ron cuddle with each other and saw Neville hesitantly ask Ginny Weasley to the ball (she accepted, although not without a mournful glance at Harry). Ron kept pestering Harry about who he was taking to the dance, but he refused to say a word (knowing that Ron would explode). When Hermione abandoned Ron for the girl’s bathroom and primping, Harry left as well, determined to look gorgeous for Malfoy. The Slytherin was always graceful and well put together, and Harry wanted to be the same. It only took him fifteen minutes to dress; the other three hours in the bathroom went to battling with his hair.

Seven o’clock soon rolled around, and Harry left Gryffindor Tower with Ron and Hermione. Ideally, he would rather not have had their company, but they would not be dissuaded from seeing who his lucky girl—or boy, as Hermione added—was. The trio arrived in front of the Great Hall, and no one else was around, it being a half hour before the ball was slated to start. Well, almost no one—Harry saw a slim, pale figure resplendent in forest green robes, and halted. The robes showed off the boy’s slender body and contrasted delightfully with the nearly platinum colour of his hair, which fell to his shoulders in smooth waves. Suddenly, Harry felt unkempt and rumpled, despite all his efforts. The figure turned towards him, and Harry slowly walked forward.

“Oi, Malfoy! What d’you think you’re doing here?” Ron scowled at the Slytherin.

“Picking up my date, Weasel. What’s it look like?” came the cool rejoinder. Malfoy walked up to Harry and linked arms with him. “Shall we enter, Potter?”

Ron’s jaw dropped. “You can’t be going with  _him_ , Harry! He’s—he’s— _Malfoy_!” Harry decided that it would be the better part of valour to keep walking and to ignore the increasingly loud shouts coming from behind him.

“Your friends don’t seem to approve of me, Potter,” Malfoy said, eyes glinting up at the slightly taller Gryffindor.

“Do you think the Slytherins are going to be any happier than Ron?”

“Not to put too fine a point on it—no.”

Harry laughed, and drew Draco close for a moment before leading him to a nearby table. The other students slowly filed in, garbed in dress robes of varying taste and colour, gawking at the Gryffindor/Slytherin pair before heading off to join their friends. Ron and Hermione came to sit with them, although it was obvious that Ron was present only because Hermione had dragged him. Dinner came and went, and the dancing came and went. Harry whirled around the dance floor with Malfoy, accidentally treading on his feet and laughing at the blond boy’s histrionic exclamations and playful attempts to exact revenge. Harry could hardly believe his good fortune and thought,  _Maybe dreams can come true_. Pausing for a moment, he stood still and gazed at the limpid grey eyes that shone with affection and good humour.  _He’s smiling. He’s smiling at me, he’s smiling because he’s happy. With me._  

It was almost time for the ball to end, and before he could come up with a reason not to, Harry bent his head and touched his lips to Draco’s. The boy’s lips were tender and tasted like the mint ice cream he’d had for dinner (Draco preferred mint because it was green like his house colours.), sweet and fresh. Harry could feel Draco freeze, startled, but then the Slytherin relaxed and wound his arms around the Gryffindor’s neck, drawing him close. Breaking the kiss for a moment, Draco drew back and whispered, “Don’t think you can take advantage of me without asking first, Potter,” before closing in again.

Harry murmured, “May I kiss you again, Malfoy?” against the boy’s mouth, and felt him mouth a muffled, “Yes.” Harry Potter stood there, lost in the warm feel of Draco against him, holding him, a longed-for dream made reality.


End file.
